talking to the moon
by superglasspiano
Summary: Adam has some regrets.


He's sitting at the window, staring at the moon-beyond the moon. _You were the moon. And the sun and stars._ Were. Used to be. Gone.

He misses you. He regrets the things he said-that you spent your last night together apart. Now you're…way out there. Probably passing Jupiter already.

The apartment feels empty without you; the _lack_ of you is tangible. It's like all the nothing of the space you and he both were always so into has come to this tiny flat on Earth. He wants some music, wants a drink, wants to do something and just _not think_. But he can't move from this windowsill.

He's been sitting here every night for the past two weeks. During the day he tries to focus, pretends like he's ok-or that he will be. He still has a _job_ , still has to function. And there's always a million things going on at the Galaxy Garrison. There's always something to _do_. He tries to ignore the reminders of you-of your life, with him and in general-around every corner. You lived here too. During the day, he does his best to forget.

But at night there's no distraction. You've been gone before-for longer than this, even, and he knows you love it; you're the best pilot out there, and people don't get _that good_ at something they just like. Yes, you've been gone before. That's not the point. You've been gone before-and even if you were still sick then, you weren't _dying_.

There's no one to look after you on Kerberos. Sure, Sam and Matt are _there_. They're _present_. But if something happens, if it gets worse, if _you_ get worse, there's still no help. Even a genius-even _two_ geniuses-can't do anything without the right equipment, the right supplies.

He hasn't hardly slept since you left. He worries about you. If you die out there… He doesn't want to think about it. All the things he'd never get the chance to fix. But he can't help it. He's never been able to stop thinking about you, ever since you first met.

Now you're farther away than you've ever been. Than any human has ever been. If he wasn't feeling so many other things, he'd be proud. His Takashi, always doing all the things that've never been done before.

He's alone. He tells the moon everything-and it doesn't listen. It never has; it just stares down on him unseeing, uncaring, _unknowing_. The moon doesn't give a damn about him. He wants to believe you're not the same.

He falls asleep curled up by the window.

He dreams of you.

It's been months. Months of adjusting to life without you there (he's always had to adjust when you're gone, but then he knew for sure you were coming back), teaching classes at the Garrison, listening to every report and transmission from Kerberos-hoping to hear your voice, even though it's usually just Sam, maybe sometimes Matt-lying awake at night until his eyes close on their own, _not thinking_ about all the things he doesn't want to think about.

It's been months. You should be on your way home soon. Maybe then he can stop worrying-about you, about himself, about the two of you together. He told you not to expect him to be there when you get back. It's his biggest lie-and his biggest regret.

But you'll come home. Then he can make things right.

He turns the tv on for background noise in the mornings-it's too quiet without you here, even after this long. The silence all but chased him out of the apartment for the first month or so. It still doesn't feel right-this noise isn't _your_ noise-but it's better than nothing. At least, that's what he tells himself in the light of day, even if he said the opposite to the moon last night.

He leaves as soon as he can. The Garrison is noisy, bustling, _distracting_. Almost perfect. (He still sees you around every corner.) He passes Iverson's office on the way to his classroom, and the man calls him inside.

"What is it, commander?" he asks.

Commander Iverson looks…nervous? "Adam…I need to tell you something."

"What? What's going on?" Something is wrong. He knows it.

"It-it's about the Kerberos mission. It's…gone."

"Gone?"

"Missing. Disappeared."

"How?"

Iverson sighs. "…piloting error. I thought you should know before-before it went public."

"No…no." _Gone. Missing. Disappeared. Piloting error_. "No." You can't be gone. You're supposed to come home.

"I'm sorry, Adam."

 _So am I_. He turns out of the office, away from Iverson's sympathetic gaze. The door closes behind him with a _snick_.

He can't teach his class today. He calls a sub and goes home.

The apartment is silent, and it's crushing him, eating him alive. You're gone. _Piloting error_. What happened? Where are you?

You're so far away, and he's stuck here not knowing. He'll never know.

He puts the tv on. He doesn't want to watch, but he can't _not_. Can't tear his eyes from the screen. Because they're talking about _you_ -not for the first time, but for the last. The mission, how something went wrong- _piloting error_ , they say, but what does that _mean?_ -the people who were out there, now gone, presumed dead.

The reporter says it, your picture on the screen. You and Sam and Matt, lined up, names underneath: _Samuel Holt, Matthew Holt, Takashi Shirogane…missing…presumed dead_.

Gone.

The sky is somewhere between black and purple and blue. The stars come out, light poking through the darkness like a giant pricking holes in the fabric of space. That cold, uncaring expanse-it took you. He shivers. You're not coming home. It doesn't feel like home without you.

Why can't the moon just _look away_ for once? Why can't it leave him alone? Like you did. You made your choice, and look where it got you: lost up there somewhere, _missing, gone, presumed dead, never coming back._ The words refuse to leave his head; they swirl around in his mind, like a catchy song without the beat-there's no music in this. No light but the moonlight, soft and harsh at the same time, washing the colour out of everything. _I'm sorry,_ he wants to tell you, but it's too late for that.

He takes one last look at the moon-past the moon, to where you were-then slides off the windowsill and flicks the curtains shut. _Goodbye, Takashi._

 _I love you._


End file.
